


Christmas Eve

by stateofintegrity



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:47:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28392639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity
Summary: Christmas Eve can be better than Christmas!
Relationships: Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Christmas Eve

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MajorWinchesterFan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorWinchesterFan/gifts).



Christmas Eve is better than Christmas. 

The gifts are still wrapped and could be anything. There is hope, anticipation, ritual - fun. And, this year, there is the love of his life, visiting and celebrating with them, adorable in a velvety Santa hat with a puffball on the end. 

Max cooks breakfast - French toast for himself and Honoria, with real maple syrup heated on the stove - and a grilled cheese for Charles - a deluxe version that includes mayonnaise, cream cheese, garlic, and heavy cream. Charles protests at the use of a separate burner, but Max swats at him with a spatula and carries on. 

Charles scolds his sister and his best friend as they pair an already sugary breakfast with bottles of Coca-Cola, but their happiness overrides his professional ethics. As for his sandwich… it is an  _ experience _ . The Major moans over what it will doubtlessly do to his waistline until both the cook and his sister tell him to be quiet and enjoy. 

The day is as soft around them as the blankets Honoria has scattered everywhere in an effort to keep Max warm. They read in companionable silence and watch Christmas specials. Charles has never been much affected by the gooey sentimentality of such things, but this year they feel right and true. Max does something magical with milk and spices at tea time, concocting homemade chai, and the phone rings with long distance calls from friends wishing them well. The 4077th crew jokes with Charles about including Max in his holidays, but the former Major chalks this up to jealousy. Klinger is the ornament of his season - bright and beautiful - and he can barely keep his eyes off of him. 

He knew it in camp, of course, that the man’s motions were balletic - but seeing them employed for his comfort and happiness - Max shuffling cards, Max handing him a dessert plate - does something to the warm space inside of his chest where Charles keeps the best and most private parts of himself. Max is a treasure trove of joy - and he adds to his collection of images and sensations nearly moment by moment until it seems he can hold no further happiness. But then Max smiles up at him for no reason at all, and that warm space doubles like magic to house that look and the golden glow it creates inside the man at whom it is directed. 

Alone in the kitchen with Honoria, Charles is surprised when she comes fully into his arms as she did as a girl, snuggling in tight against him. His hands remain splayed on the air for just a second in surprise, but then he holds back. “What is this for, dove?”

“Just f-for being you. I n-never let myself b-believe you might not come h-home, you know.”

She means from the war, he realizes. And how selfish he was, then, complaining to her of dirt and misery while overlooking the fact that she was terribly lonely. They had always been each other’s shelters. “I never meant to leave you alone.” 

“You are m-making up for it.” 

He can hear it in her voice. “You mean Max. He is not a kitten, you know. We cannot just keep him.”

“He is pr-precisely like a kitten. And I s-see no one else m-making a prior claim. Do m-make him stay, Ch-Charles. I like h-having a little brother to spoil.”

“He has a  _ life _ , Miss  _ Winchester _ . I cannot simply order him to drop it to entertain you.”

“Of c-course you can. Y-you’re his Major.” They share a smile at the title Max cannot seem to drop, the amusing way the dear thing can compress respect and affection into a military term. “Besides, y-you’d be doing n-nothing of the sort. He can h-have the same life here with us.”

Charles doesn’t permit himself to imagine it. “I would insult him if I asked. He would not accept such a thing from me - to live beneath a roof he did not pay for.” 

_ He might, brother mine, if you carried him over the threshold.  _ “So ch-charge him rent. Tell h-him it’s for me - that I n-need a chaperone lest I bring ruin upon the family name.”

He smirks. And, to her surprise,  _ jokes _ . “My dear, I think that we both know that having Maxwell here makes  _ me  _ the far likelier candidate for such a thing - and I would be smiling  _ the entire time _ .”

“Please. It h-has been so l-long, you’d be in be-bewildered tears - and you know it.” 

He blushes but concedes the point - Maxwell does have a way of overwhelming him! The afternoon includes a snow battle that necessitates hot showers and hot chocolate - and Charles almost sways out of his chair at the sight of Maxwell, hair softly fluffed by a towel, sweater tugged off of one shoulder in his haste to dress, licking at the whipped cream cresting over the rim of his cup like a sugar cloud.  _ Kitten _ , Charles thinks, helplessly.  _ My pretty pet _ . And it’s wrong, but he wonders if Max would be as dainty with his tongue, would apply those little kitten licks, to  _ him _ . 

That night, they dress in silly pajamas they bought for each other. Honoria’s are from Max - a fleecy set patterned with typewriters and notepads and a to do list with a deadline of last week. Charles wears a silky mauve (Honoria’s choice) and Max likes the fit and the color. His new sleepwear is feminine and elegant, a warm saffron gown with plum accents - a gift from Charles meant to tell him that he’s welcome, in this house, to dress as feminine as he pleases. 

They make up sleeping bags on the floor - a holdover from their childhood days when they insisted on staying in the same room for Christmas. Max is tickled at the sight of Charles prepared to sleep on the floor; Honoria really has him wrapped around her finger! They talk deep into the night, sharing memories of other holidays. They like being close enough to reach out and touch one another, are genuinely happy in each other’s company. 

After a time, Honoria reminds her brother that they’ve neglected a tradition. They always exchange one gift on Christmas Eve. Charles sighs. “I shall go get them. I trust neither of you not to shake every package under the tree.” 

“Wait a m-minute,” she says. “We already h-have ours in here. Max, if you w-would?”

He tenderly places a kiss on her forehead. His eyes say thank you. Then he turns to Charles. “Merry Christmas Eve, Major.” 

It’s a hell of a kiss. Despite his superior rank and bank accounts and height, Charles is the one to bend back under that perfect mouth - and he doesn’t care if he ever gets up. Honoria, however, makes a giggling escape, announcing that she’s going to open something to keep herself entertained. They barely hear. 

Max blinks. “Didn’t even know people  _ could  _ kiss like that, Major baby. Issat some high class thing?” 

Charles laughs and laughs. “No, pretty pet. That was an ‘I adore you’ thing.” He tenderly cups his face. “Thank you for being so brave.”

“Thank Nori. I asked her permission ‘cause I didn’t so much think your parents would talk to me.”

“Oh you did, did you? And she agreed?”

“Only if she got ta see me kiss you.” 

“And this permission you requested- it was for?”

“You. For always. If you think I’m good enough.”

“Given that you quite nearly made me pass out a moment ago, you may be, indeed, too good,” he teases, pulling him into his lap. “What exactly are you, ah,  _ proposing _ , sweet girl?” 

“Nice try.” Max kisses his nose, his forehead, the corner of his mouth. “You hafta wait for that part, Major baby.” 

“Oh?”

Max hums against his mouth. “Unless you wanna ask me.”

He has inherited jewels from the Emerson line meant to adorn a bride (as has Honoria) and he cannot wait to see Maxwell in them. But he thinks there is probably a ring or some similar symbol waiting beneath his tree - and he will not forfeit the sight of Max asking. For tonight, however… “I shall endeavor to be patient. You have not unwrapped a Christmas Eve gift yet, you know.”

“Got my eye on a certain package,” Max teases, hands sliding down his sides. “That okay, you think?” 

“I do not believe you shall encounter any ‘don’t open’til Christmas’ tags, love.” 

“Love you, Charles.” 

“Oh, I could tell.”

Max fights his way free of a kiss to protest. “You hafta say it back, Major!”

“Ah, forgive me. Maxwell Klinger, my darling Corporal, my beautiful girl, I love you and I always, always shall.”

Safe in one another’s arms, they snuggle together to wait for Christmas morning and the joys it is sure to hold.

End! 

  
  



End file.
